


i bide my time while biting my tongue

by gealbhan



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Canon Universe, F/F, Minor Violence, Pre-Relationship, Sparring, Swordfighting, mild ep 29 spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-15
Updated: 2019-06-15
Packaged: 2020-05-12 13:48:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19230355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gealbhan/pseuds/gealbhan
Summary: “Are you prepared, Dr. Sarah Drake?”Dr. Drake raises her sword in a defensive position, jaw set and eyebrows pinched together behind it. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”





	i bide my time while biting my tongue

**Author's Note:**

> "look at me, i'm like a rotisserie shithead!" -griffin mcelroy in the mbmbam show, but also me, posting 3 fics for 3 different fandoms w/in 2 weeks
> 
> i'll be back on my aa bs before long [eyes emoji] but for now, please accept my rarepair content for a pair so rare i don't even know if i'm spelling dr. drake's name correctly (in the event it is revealed i am not, this will be promptly edited). also, thanks claire (@ghost--rocks on tumblr) for being a cool swordfighting lesbian and making sure my swordfighting writing was up to snuff!
> 
> title is from "there's a girl" by the ditty bops. enjoy!

“Are you prepared, Dr. Sarah Drake?”

Dr. Drake swallows as she faces Minerva. Her hair is pulled back into a messy bun, and her usual lab coat is replaced with more casual clothes under handmade armor provided by Minerva, who’d been more than happy to show off her oft-forgotten crafting skills. She should wear a helmet as well, but Minerva hasn’t figured out how to make one that accounts for Dr. Drake’s blocky glasses.

 _I’d rather have the chance to be able to see what’s coming and dodge than be without ‘em, and I can’t do contacts,_ she’d said, sheepish. Minerva had obliged—so long as they would agree to implement every other security measure, and then some. (She isn’t used to sparring with combatants that she can hit and harm quite yet, so it hadn’t only been for Dr. Drake’s sake.)

Which is why the sword Dr. Drake now hefts is dull and solid wood. She raises it in a defensive position, jaw set and eyebrows pinched together behind it. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

Minerva nods but looks over Dr. Drake’s stance. She’s improved in the couple of weeks since they’d begun practicing, but she’s still got much improving to do. “I don’t think that’s accurate yet, Dr. Sarah Drake. Feet farther apart,” she directs, and Dr. Drake obeys. “Bend your knees slightly. Above all else, you must _relax_ , Dr. Sarah Drake—keep that in mind and you will excel.”

Dr. Drake mumbles something, too quiet for Minerva to catch. Minerva has the sneaking suspicion that she’s being sassed, so she doesn’t request Dr. Drake to speak up. Dr. Drake’s shoulders go down a smidge. She’s still far too tense, nerves obvious even without looking at her face.

Minerva eyes the white-flushed knuckles wrapped around the hilt. “Loosen your grip.”

Dr. Drake inhales and exhales, then slackens her grip the tiniest bit. She’s still clinging to the sword so hard it looks like it hurts, but it’s now lacking some of the desperation.

Minerva hums. “We’ll keep working on this as you progress in her training, Dr. Sarah Drake. For now…” She raises her own sword—also made of wood, but heavier and more durable, though the material and single-handed grip are unfamiliar enough to make her own grasp somewhat clumsier than that on her favored weapon—and drops into a fighting stance. Her heartbeat kicks up and she grins. She loves this, the moment before the fight; the chance to size up her opponent and examine her surroundings, to strategize. The moment when the adrenaline starts pumping and the real action begins. “Let us dance, Dr. Sarah Drake!”

That startles a laugh out of Dr. Drake, who takes a small step back. “Let’s.”

Minerva bows—not something traditional, per se, but something she’s made a habit of doing, making her respect for her sparring partner and the art of this fighting form clear—and raises her sword in a salute, flat—the harmless part—facing Dr. Drake. She waits for Dr. Drake to mimic her, movements clumsier but much more comfortable than they’d been the first time. And then, not wasting an instant, Minerva lunges.

Dr. Drake is still a slow fighter who takes some time (far too much time, in Minerva’s opinion, but she’ll allow her some leeway in the earliest stages of their training) to warm up, so quick movements will be to Minerva’s advantage—they certainly are now, as Dr. Drake almost trips over her own feet at the approach. She gets her guard up in time to keep from being skewered by Minerva’s sword—in theory, of course—but it’s a close thing.

Minerva clicks her tongue. “In a real battle, you will not get to react at your leisure, Dr. Sarah Drake! You must keep your instincts keen, ready to respond at a moment’s notice!”

“I know, I know.” Dr. Drake pushes back enough to hold Minerva at bay, but she doesn’t make any efforts to properly counter. “It’s just—my instincts have always been more on the _flight_ end of things.”

“Then you must train them otherwise.” Minerva retreats, seeing no point in continuing this stalemate—and watching to see if Dr. Drake stumbles at the missing weight, which she does.

Minerva’s frown doesn’t last long before she’s lunging again. Her strike is a feint, and an obvious one at that, but Dr. Drake falls for it hook line and sinker. As Minerva steps back, her frown returns.

“Show some backbone, Dr. Sarah Drake!” she goads. “Don’t let your opponent get the better of you! Counter! Strike back and strike true!”

Dr. Drake grits her teeth. “I’m really starting to understand why Duck is, y’know, the way he is.”

“There is no time for witty quips in the heat of battle, Dr. Sarah Drake! Only time to debilitate your enemy!”

Minerva is moving too fast to catch it, but she thinks Dr. Drake rolls her eyes.

This time, when she thrusts and Dr. Drake parries, Minerva doesn’t let up. She twists her sword in an effort to disarm Dr. Drake—the maneuver is one she doesn’t often get to make use of, but given Dr. Drake’s passiveness, she’ll revel in the chance. If Dr. Drake doesn’t move this fight along, then she might as well end it now—

But something clicks in Dr. Drake’s eyes, a light that Minerva recognizes. Dr. Drake not only deflects but counters, knocking Minerva back—and she doesn’t stop there. She steps forward, taking a more offensive stance, and swings, knocking her blade against the flat of Minerva’s.

 _There’s_ that spark Minerva had been hoping for. She recovers fast, though, not letting herself get distracted by the intensity of Dr. Drake’s gaze for long. She puts most of her weight into a counter that sends Dr. Drake skidding across the room. Dr. Drake pants, eyes wide beneath her glasses. Minerva has to fight a few coughs of her own. They study each other for a moment as they take the opportunity to catch their breaths and process what had just happened.

Minerva lowers her sword with a grin. “Very good, Dr. Sarah Drake!” she says, and Dr. Drake breaks into a satisfied smile. “Were I not holding a sword, I daresay I would applaud. But can you keep up the pace?”

Again, she doesn’t give Dr. Drake a chance to think before she advances in several short bursts. Dr. Drake meets her not with a parry but a counter right off the bat. Minerva’s grin grows and grows as they continue with this pattern, the sound of their blades knocking together as wonderful as the blues music from Minerva’s home planet that she treasures so much.

Dr. Drake’s energy boost is nearly palpable. She settles into being on the offensive fast, no longer hiding behind her sword but making full use of it as an extension of her body. She’ll be an admirable fighter one day, perhaps able to best Minerva in a real match by more than simple chance—

—but that won’t be today, far from it. When it comes down to it, Minerva is an experienced fighter of many years who has also trained fighters for many years; Dr. Drake began training less than a month ago. She’s a rather smart woman—not to mention adapting faster than Minerva would have thought at first—but it’s a simple fact that she isn’t as physically powerful as Minerva by a long shot, nor does she have her long-term stamina. So before long, their back-and-forth takes its toll, Dr. Drake’s movements becoming more sluggish and falling back on old habits. Minerva finds her swing meeting another reflexive parry.

Her smile widens. “You’ve put up a remarkable fight, and I commend you for it,” she says, “but I’m afraid I have you now, Dr. Sarah Drake!”

And now for the (metaphoric) killing blow. While she may love the beginning of a fight, _this_ is her true favorite part: the enemy’s cornered look, the scent of victory in the air, the adrenaline in her veins coming to a peak before the exhaustion and muscle soreness set in.

Minerva pushes with all of her might, attempting the disarming maneuver once more. Dr. Drake relents with a muted grunt. Her sword clatters to the ground as she stumbles backward, almost tripping before she catches herself—but her sword is too far away now, and she realizes it, Minerva can tell from the widening of her eyes.

Minerva almost laughs as she rears back and raises her sword above her head. It’s a far flashier move than she’d opt for in normal combat, the buildup too slow and her regular two-handed sword too heavy to dispatch anyone but a restrained opponent—cowed by Duck’s odd shows of mercy, her view of even that is starting to change. But now, this is for practice, Dr. Drake is frozen in place, and the sword is light enough that Minerva lets loose a delighted cry as she swings down, time seeming to slow—

And then Minerva remembers the corporeal nature of the woman before her. It seems an odd thing to forget, but for an instant, swords swinging and faint laughter in the air, she’d been brought back to her sparring matches with Duck, where she hadn’t needed to worry about sticking him in any vital locations because she wouldn’t be able to harm him no matter what.

But Dr. Drake is _here_. _Minerva_ is here. They’re both here, on Earth, in this room, and the sword in Minerva’s hand is real and can make contact with Dr. Drake’s body—it’s wooden, but Minerva has a habit of turning harmless vessels into massively destructive weapons. She has no reason to believe this flimsy sword would be any different. And though Dr. Drake is more durable than the average human, a sword to the skull will still hurt—could still kill, could still do nonlethal but irreparable damage.

Things are still moving far slower than they should be. Trembling at the very thought of bringing unintentionally devastating harm to Dr. Sarah Drake, Minerva makes use of it. She makes a choice.

She brings her hand to a stop, blade grazing the tip of Dr. Drake’s head as her sword halts in midair. Dr. Drake gapes up at her, a flush high in her cheeks. Minerva has taken two steps back before she realizes she hasn’t yet lowered her sword, and she’s quick to do so, sheathing it at her side. Sweat clings to her neck and palms. She can see just as much—more, even—beading on Dr. Drake’s forehead, sticking flyaway strands of hair to her skin.

“I apologize, Dr. Sarah Drake,” she says once her heart is beating normally again. Her voice is as boisterous as ever, but there’s a tremble in it—obvious, she suspects, only to her. “I have grown far too used to sparring with a remote—or nonliving—partner, so I am not used to being able to physically harm my partner. I—” She trails off, frowning, then plants her hands on her hips. “I offer my sincerest apologies, Dr. Sarah Drake, though no words I can offer will likely suffice. I can, however, promise to restrain myself during our sparring matches or perhaps enlist Duck Newton or Leo Tarkesian to take my place—”

“Hey, hey, it’s all right,” cuts in Dr. Drake. She laughs, nervous, and flashes Minerva a reproachful glance. “Thanks for the apology and all, but it’s cool, just—shit, just warn me next time? And I need a break for today, ‘cause I think I just almost had a fucking heart attack.”

“I won’t need to warn you, because it will not happen again,” Minerva promises on reflex, then she pauses. “Are you not too young for such ailments, Dr. Sarah Drake? Duck Newton has informed me many times that the heart problems I nearly inflicted on him as a youth were far premature.”

Dr. Drake huffs out another laugh. “Yeah, that’s why I need to call it quits for today.” She moves forward but stops mid-step with a wince. “Damn. I might have some bruising on my ribs too. Did you really need to whap me in ‘em when I tried to snark mid-counter?”

Minerva coughs. “I apologize for that as well. I got… a tad carried away in today’s session.”

“Nah, nah, don’t worry.” Dr. Drake waves her off, adjusting her glasses with her free hand. Flushing, she adds, “I liked seeing you all intense and shit, y’know? That’s how you were when we met, so it shouldn’t be that surprising or interesting, but—” She shrugs. “I don’t know, it pumped me up.”

“Oh?” says Minerva. “Then I will have to keep my being ‘intense and shit’ up in the future. Anything to help you improve, Dr. Sarah Drake.”

With a bright smile tossed in Minerva’s direction, Dr. Drake pads over to the bench in the corner of the room to wipe the sweat from her face with a towel. Minerva’s heart hiccups. She clears her throat and leans against the wall, face suddenly warm as she tries to think of something to say. She could let sleeping ducks lie and bask in the silence, but she _wants_ to keep talking to Dr. Drake.

She’s apologized enough, even if the guilt has yet to abate. She doesn’t know enough about Dr. Drake’s interests beyond science to bring those up. She could recommend some things to keep Dr. Drake in shape beyond exercise in the form of their sparring matches and warm-up and cool-down sessions, but she’s already discussed such matters with her. Mentioning one of their mutual acquaintances is a nonstarter.

All things considered, Minerva decides to fall back on what people here consider _small talk_ (and what people on her home planet considered _useless_ ). “Will you be heading back to work after this?”

Dr. Drake lowers the towel, eyebrows raised, as she reaches to grab a bottle of water from the bench. Her glasses are pushed back to her forehead. A few sweat-slick strands of hair still hang forward, dangling over her eyes—Minerva is debating if she should cross the room to tuck them back when Dr. Drake says, “What, you think I’d hang out with you if I had work after?” She drapes the towel around her neck, slides her glasses back to her nose, and takes a sip of water. She wrinkles her nose as she lowers the bottle. “Plus, I’m pretty sure my current ‘extended leave’ is just code for the higher-ups debating whether or not they’re gonna fire my ass.”

Minerva winces in sympathy. Then she processes the earlier half of Dr. Drake’s words. She seems to keep getting distracted. “Hang out with me?”

“Well. Yeah.” Dr. Drake laughs, shaking her head and toying with the plastic lid on the water bottle. “Sounds a little stupid now, but I don’t know, I thought we could do something after this. And that this was a pretty decent bonding activity anyway.”

“I would be happy to join in with any activity you wish to partake with me, Dr. Sarah Drake.” Minerva preens at the insinuation, fists on her hips. She’s been told this is considered a _power stance_. She certainly _feels_ powerful. “I owe it to you more than ever, I would say, after how I have—hmm—bungled things in a major way.”

Dr. Drake laughs again. It’s a nice sound, Minerva recognizes, even if not as nice as the sounds of swords clashing. “You wanna go get a pizza or something? We ain’t gotta watch _The Voice_ , but hey, they just fixed up that Pizza Hut, and I think it’d be a shame to waste a good pizza place.”

Minerva doesn’t have to take more than a second to make her decision, but she taps her chin in false consideration. “Would you be willing to tell me more about your Earth science at this Hut of Pizza, Dr. Sarah Drake?”

“As long as you tell me more about all the moons around your planet.”

While Minerva has made a point to not discuss her home planet with anyone, least of all those she trains, Dr. Sarah Drake has already listened more intently and respectfully than even anyone _from_ Miralaviniax—and besides, who will tell its story if not Minerva? She links her arm through Dr. Drake’s and says, letting herself smile, “Those terms are more than acceptable.”

Dr. Drake glances at their linked arms, then smiles back. “It’s a date.”

**Author's Note:**

> thanks so much for reading!! if you have time to spare, comments & kudos are very much appreciated 8)
> 
> [tumblr](https://infernallegaycy.tumblr.com) | [twitter](https://twitter.com/birdmarrow)


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